I glance at the clock as I leave Marjorie sound asleep on my bed and note it’s after midnight. There rest of the clan is already gathered in the foyer waiting for me so I hurry to join them. Bray and his Trackers have arrived. I know he’s as intent on uncovering yet more of the mysteries Wolf Creek Hollow hides as I am.
“How are we going to go about this?” Dario is the first to ask.
Bray takes it upon himself to answer. “We take the cars to the nearest road and go on foot from there. We are going to split into two teams once we are inside. Marquis will lead the first team and I will lead the second.”
“Simone and Josephine have agreed to stay behind to keep Marjorie safe. Also, to ensure our little prisoner down in the cellar doesn’t try to escape,” Marquis adds. Our detainee may be male but he’s not a match for either of our women. Purebreds are stronger, a birthright bestowed on us by the bloodlines.
“There is a matter for us to discuss before we take off, however...” Bray comes forth; in his hands is a small bundle.
“The comradery. We are to be sworn in blood tonight,” Marquis announces to everyone present, making it official. “We should step out in case Marjorie awakens.”
With everyone in agreement, we proceed to our front yard and align ourselves according to rank. The Trackers take their position to the back. Ahead of them, my family and I line up from eldest to youngest. In front of the ceremony are Bray, Marquis, Bayard and Simone.
As the matron, Simone is required to stand next to her mate and witness firsthand any exchanges, pacts, or orders to be carried out, providing her support or opposition as the alpha’s wife. Bayard, on the other hand, as top Tracker he’s Bray’s right-hand man, so he always stands a step behind his leader in a sign of respect and submissiveness.
We stand in perfect alignment as Bray unravels the purple cloth with gold embroidery of a letter V stitched in the middle, revealing a dagger roughly eight inches in length from the tip of the handle to the blade. He removes the cloth and hands it over to Bayard.
Facing us, he begins with, “Tonight the ValKhazars and the Rousseaus come together on mutual accord to unite both clans so we may become one for as long as our common goals remain the same. In this case, we strive to protect a member of my family,” he spares a glimpse in my direction, “and future mate of the uniting clan’s second alpha.”
I’m instantly uncomfortable by Bray’s remark. I don’t consider myself an alpha even if they think of me as one. “Alpha?” I mutter under my breath, resenting the word.
Bray removes the sheath, which is violet in color and sports a small golden V in the center. After handing over the sleeve to Bayard, Bray takes the elaborately decorated handle and uses the sharp end of the dagger to cut into the palm of his hand.
“Let my blood run for the commitment I now have to the Rousseaus, to protect the members of their pack in the event their alpha cannot carry out his duties or responsibilities to those under his command.” Bray passes on the dagger to Marquis, who gladly takes it and follows the elder alpha’s example, cutting into his own palm.
“Let my blood run for the commitment I now share with the ValKhazar clan,” facing each other, Marquis and Bray clasp hands, allowing their blood to mix in and run together, “that as long we desire to protect both our clans we will fight and be as of one mind and blood.”
“Should there be any oppositions let them be known now,” Bray adds.
No one comes forth. I had my chance to oppose, given to me earlier by my brother, but I turned it down. Though because of my wary nature, it’s hard for me to think of Bray as someone entirely incorruptible, I really want to believe we have nothing to fear.
Bray steps back first, cradling his hand while he waits for it to heal. Marquis falls back beside his mate, both gazing at each other with love and admiration. No one speaks as we wait out the few seconds it takes for their hands to heal. Once both wounds close up, however, the Trackers head for the vehicles first.
Simone bids her husband goodbye before heading on inside with Josephine to watch over and protect Marjorie.
“I call shotgun,” Alexis says, bumping into me as he heads for Marquis’ car.
“Only if Dario is not riding with us,” I warn.
***
The old, abandoned buildings on the property, or what’s left of them really, are dilapidated and falling apart. They have long since served their purpose. Human activity is nonexistent and most likely has been since the authorities shut down the place back in the 1980’s. The entrance to the mine doesn’t look safe either, yet the heavy scent of werewolf lingering in the air catches my undivided attention. There is definitely high werewolf traffic coming and going from the mine.
“Kyran, Alexis, Imai, Dario, and Bayard will head out with Bray to the right hand side of the main tunnel. The rest of us will start out to the left and work our way inward. The plan is to go inside and search for clues, betas, basically anything leading to the alpha or his main den. If one group finds anything of importance, send out a howl. I’m not sure how well we will be able to hear it down here, but if nothing is detected send someone to look for the other group. We should meet back at the entrance in an hour.” Once Marquis has given out his orders he turns to Bray and says, “Anything else you would like to add?”
“Yes. In the event of a run in with a member of the Gandillon pack, do not engage in battle unless otherwise necessary. We need to know where they hide, so capturing one of them alive or following them as they flee should be a priority. Everyone up to speed?”
We all grunt in agreement.
“Very well, then. Let’s begin.”
Bray leads his group in through the entrance first. He takes it upon himself to walk ahead of us with Bayard to the back. As expected, the tunnel is dark and dusty, but not as narrow as I had come to expect.
“There is little doubt as to the presence of wolves down here,” Bray says as he carefully continues to follow the length of the tunnel. “Their scent is everywhere, the walls, the ground, the ceiling.”
Our keen eyesight allows for us to see well, even in darkness. I can make out the wires on the walls, which once fed electricity to the various lamps hanging mere inches above our heads. Along the way, I spot the occasional shovel or pickaxe left behind by the men who worked underground years ago. It’s the only sign of human activity within the tunnel.
“There’s something weighing heavily on my mind.” My gaze follows the back of Bray’s head as he paces in front of us.
“Speak your mind, Kyran,” Bray encourages.
“My first impression of you was not a good one.”
“I can imagine why.”
“Ah, I don’t believe for a second, you ever have a good impression of anyone, Kyran,” Dario puts his two cents in.
“Kenny Marshall, what is your business with him?” I get right to the point, ignoring Dario completely.
“Subsequently, none. He was the first wolf to greet us as we arrived and naturally, I assumed he had some involvement with Marjorie. It did not take long for me to conclude his interactions with her were limited to none at all.”
So Kenny had hoped to interfere in Bray’s affair, not really knowing why the alpha was in town, but suspecting he had come for Marjorie.
“What are your thoughts when it comes to him?” I pry further, hoping only honest words will be exchanged between us.
“Did not impress me in the least—far from it actually. I found his lack of manners both irritating and suspicious. He had no one with him during our brief meeting, and he insisted I tell him what had brought me to Wolf Creek Hollow with complete disregard to who I am.”
Sounds like Kenny had been a little desperate.
“He hasn’t inspired trust in me from the very first moment we met. I have reasons to believe he has something to do with what’s going on. So I have to assume he didn’t take your refusal to discuss anything very well.”
“I suspect not, but like you, I also have reasons to believe he is anythin
g but trustworthy. He comes across as an ambitious wolf, and not in a good way.”
“We have encountered wolves like him before. A week ago we had to dispose of one who had every intention of taking Marjorie,” Alexis adds.
“Is he the reason she was in the hospital?” Bray asks.
“Unfortunately,” I grumble.
“Definitely not someone we should overlook then. Is there a connection between Kenny and that particular wolf?”
“The only connection we have been able to find as of right now is competition. As alphas tend to do, Santos and Kenny were competing for the right to claim Marjorie,” Alexis provides.
“The apple of the discord holds the key to werewolf evolution...how fascinating it must be for those looking to tip the scale in their favor.”
Dario’s comment hits a nail. That’s exactly what the Gandillon alpha wants to do, except Marjorie will likely be used and abused in the process.
“Precisely why we can’t let them get their hands on her.”
Dario’s eyes seek mine out in the darkness. “I should probably say something to ease away your worries, but truth be told, we cannot afford to let our guard down,” he says, all humor aside.
I glance away from him, too overwhelmed with anger and uncertainty to trust myself with a response. I know all too well what we have to face.
“What can you tell us so far, Imai?” Bray addresses the Tracker of Asian descent.
“The constant flow of werewolves down here varies from Trackers to betas. They move in a hurry, which means they don’t prolong their stay more than necessary.” I hear the Tracker sniffing the air. I’m sure he can find the answers in the scents, though I have never been able to understand the complexities behind such a gift. As a werewolf, my sense of smell is heightened, but Trackers are able to pick up on things even I miss. “It seems as if they travel in packs of six to eight members, and with anywhere from one to two Trackers leading the groups. Recently, more than half a dozen groups have moved through here?”
“How recently?”
“A day or so.”
“I concur,” Bayard offers as he keeps up with our steady pace. “We cannot tell why, but they have swept through this area, exiting the tunnels without coming back. This means they have a den nearby or meet somewhere in the area to carry out their plans.”
“They have moved on to someplace else for the time being. Perhaps, sensing danger in our approach,” Bray concludes.
“This isn’t their main den then.” I shake my head in frustration.
“No, it is not. When thinking of a den expect to find a sizable place, somewhere spacious where they can gather without fear of being uncovered. Only then will we have stumbled upon their lair.”
“But where is the Gandillon leader keeping the betas? They are not allowed to gather in the main den with the purebreds, remember?”
“Alexis brings up a valid point,” I say.
“The only way we can figure this out is by continuing on with our investigations,” Bayard provides.
Bray leads the way farther inward and, though I’m not entirely sure, I deduce we are some thirty feet or so in by my calculations, before the tunnel takes an abrupt turn to the right. By the wall of fallen rocks and dirt, it’s easy to assume this must have been one of the areas where the ceiling collapsed.
“Looks like someone carved in a new tunnel to the right. I wonder where this one leads,” Bray says.
I’m thinking the same thing. It seems unnatural to have burrowed through the opposing wall in order to create another tunnel with the full knowledge it might not have been stable to begin with.
“It looks as if this new tunnel has been reinforced with steel pillars, though I do not think it particularly safe. However, the wolves come in and out of these on a regular basis so maybe they are secured enough.”
“Could the collapse have been intentional?” Bayard asks from the back.
Bray stands and observes our surroundings carefully. After a moment he states, “It is plausible. They could have provoked a collapse in order to have the mine at their disposal without witnesses around the clock.”
“For what reasons?” I ask, now more than a little curious myself over what exactly is going on down here.
“Let’s find out.” Bray points down the tunnel. “The answer might be waiting for us at the other end.”
Chapter Seven
During the next thirty minutes we go through a series of tunnels, some of which are dead ends. Others, however, surprise even me as we come to find out they lead to small caverns above ground, some strategically located between Marjorie’s house and ours. A third of the tunnels surround Dead Man’s curve, which would explain the string of disappearances in the area, people who have vanished while hiking in the nearby mountains, or right after an accident, never to be heard of again.
The woods surrounding Dead Man’s curve is their hunting grounds.
It infuriates me to discover they have been hiding—literally—right under our noses. Hunting, spying, stalking generally undetected for weeks. Marjorie has been in danger the entire time and we have only now come to find this out. We thought it all started with Santos, but it looks as if the Gandillon pack had their eyes on her way before then.
“I believe we are near the end,” Bray announces as we reach an opening that curves suspiciously vertically, toward the ceiling. “Some climbing is necessary to exit this tunnel.”
I glance up the opening, noting a slight incline leading to the top, which I can’t yet see but know by the slight draft of cool air blowing down, must not be too far up. “I’ll go first.”
Bray doesn’t object and steps aside so I can start up. With the benefit of my claws, I secure myself to the wall and use what rock protrudes from the earth to balance my feet on. I begin the ascent up the worn down clay and hard rock, noting how strong the werewolf odor is this close to the surface. By what I can see, it looks like the wolves use this particular entrance often.
There are handholds in the soil, a clear indicator others have probably used the same methods to get to the top. It takes little effort to reach the opening, which is basically a hole in the ground. Sensing movement nearby, I casually pop my head out, my eyes surveying the surrounding area with caution. I can make out three distinctive heartbeats and by their unusual pattern alone I can tell they are not human.
“There’s someone here,” I whisper down to Bray who is right behind me. I turn to my right but see nothing so I shift to my left, immediately spotting two large Trackers facing off with Kenny Marshall. I’m taken aback momentarily, surprised by seeing him here, but the sentiment is quickly replaced by something akin to rage.
I move to slip out of the tunnel, but pause once the larger of the two Trackers pounces on Kenny, shoving him to the ground with the force of the impact. Strong, and by no means impotent, Kenny kicks out at the wolf, but only manages to unbalance the beast for just a moment before it’s right on top of him a second time. A distended muzzle full of sharp teeth descends and bites down hard on Kenny’s abdomen. He cries out in pain, crashing his right elbow in to the large brute’s face.
The second werewolf joins in, digging his large incisors into Kenny’s ankle. Struggling now to get the upper hand, Kenny grabs ahold of the first Tracker’s neck and gives it a squeeze. His second hand soon joins the other and using both limbs he applies sufficient pressure to stop the werewolf’s attack. With more stamina than I thought him capable of possessing, he snaps the Tracker’s neck.
Not sure what to make of the scene playing out a meager three yards away, I rush out of the hole and to where Kenny is on the ground, still trying to fend off a ravenous attack by the second wolf. Though I hold no respect for Kenny whatsoever, I realize the only way we’re going to find out what role he has in all this is by making sure he stays alive long enough for us to figure it out, so I set my mind on going to his aid. But I haven’t moved more than a few inches before Bray’s hand comes out to grip my forearm with s
urprising strength.
“Do not engage in battle,” he commands, his gaze on Kenny.
“Why not?” I look at Bray with my brow furrowed, not really understanding his hesitation to act. “What is it?”
“Have you stopped to ask yourself why he is being attacked by members of his own pack?”
My gaze settles on Kenny once more, only to notice the second attacker, upon catching whiff of us, has taken off farther into the woods, fleeing as fast as his paws will carry him.
“Kenny!” I wiggle free of Bray’s grasp and march right up to the nuisance of a wolf, who has just now sat up to assess his injuries.
“What...are you doing...here, Rousseau?” His right hand presses down on the bite wound on his abdomen as if willing it to stop bleeding.
“I should ask you the same thing,” I quip, coming to a halt once I’m standing within a feet from him.
“Ever the suspicious wolf, huh?” He grimaces as he struggles to his knees. “You’re on my side of the territory and you still have enough gall to demand answers from me? There is such a thing as crossing the line, in case you didn’t know.”
“How many have you crossed?”
“We require answers from you.”
At the sound of Bray’s voice, Kenny seems to shrink a few inches. He glances up, his eyes widening at the sight of the royal werewolf. The look of alarm on his face is undeniable, his shoulders slump with tension.
“Bray? What brings you here?” Kenny manages to stand without assistance, though it seemed as if he had been waiting for one of us to offer it to him.
Like me, Bray, too, appears to be a little pissed off.
“Why are members of your pack attacking you?”
Applying pressure to the wound in his abdomen with one hand, Kenny gazes at Bray intently for a moment before averting his eyes to me. “They are not members of my pack.”
“Do they not belong to the Gandillon pack?”
“Yes.”
“Then they are members of the same pack as you.”
Breaking eye contact with me, Kenny nods toward the dead werewolf lying at our feet. “I’m not a member of this pack. The Gandillons, much like the Rousseaus, moved into this territory and took over where they had no right to.”
Blood Moon Page 5
